I am the lone non-musician at my house. We have a violinist, a pianist, and a guy who could make music from a soup can and twine if he had to.
It’s not like I’m tone-deaf or anything; I just don’t have a handle on an instrument.
Still, I was as thrilled and satisfied as the rest of them when, this weekend, our great piano search culminated in… a piano! (Small One’s been learning on an electric keyboard for a couple of years and was ready for something with wood and strings and soul…)
But when you’re shopping via Craigslist and estate sales, you don’t necessarily find the find on your first go-round. Or the third. Or the fifth.
Still. Patience is a virtue and we now have the instrument we were meant to have. There is jockeying around who gets to give it a go. The dog howls. The air reverberates. Even I can’t resist…
Haiku 20
middle C vibrates — who knows which note should follow? birds, just passing through?
Today’s Friday, April 17th. I am more than half-way through my month of daily haiku. I can tell already that I’ll be loathe to give it up.
It is the loveliest meditation, not unlike breathing.
The things I have paid attention to in the past 17 days include tree branches, migrating birds, ants, baby eagles and my sweet ol’ dog. (By the way, in case you’ve wondered, the ants are still going strong — safely ensconced in their little plastic box and tunneling as if their lives depended on it. Which I guess they do. And the eaglets? All three have hatched and I watched a very vigorous feeding session this morning…)
Since the start of this month, I’ve found myself sitting stiller for longer than I might have otherwise. Listening a bit more carefully. Watching silently.
I have found myself thinking through my days as if they were made up of small, crystalline moments. Which I guess they are.
But still, underneath the rather Zen practice, there is the form. Haiku has its parameters and while I’m no expert, I am trying to attend to them.
Interestingly, what we think of immediately are the syllabics (three lines of 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables, respectively) but these are really just a poorly-translated Japanese construct. A lovely and more intutive way to talk about it is to agree that haiku are spare — they are written to be read in a single breath.
(This month, I’m keeping to the 5-7-5 structure, but only because I’m finding deep pleasure working within it, not because Basho or Issu says I must…)
More important is the content. Specifically, haiku lives in time and space. Each haiku is meant to refer to the season — not directly, perhaps, but through imagery of snow or cherry blossoms, bare branches or new leaves. This reference is called a kigo and I’ve tried to stay true to it in my poems. (There is a cousin of the haiku, called a senryu, that allows you to forego the natural and seasonal, and muse instead on human nature.)
The other guiding principal of haiku is the kireji — the cutting word. This provides a point of transition, at the end of either the first or second line — a shift in syntax or imagery or perspective. For me, the kireji is the heart of most haiku, a moment of emotional weight created by the interesting rub of the two bits of the poem against each other.
If I were more of a scholar, I’d go on — the nuances within this tiny form are endless. But for today, my basic grasp will have to be enough. It’s time I get back to listening to the torrents of rain falling on my roof and the thunder behind it…
Haiku 17
the road fills with rain the black sky bellows and roars — family, come home
Well. I wrote haiku yesterday but never got around to posting any of them. It was that kind of day.
So, this post is actually Wednesday’s — if you’re okay with that. Thursday’s will follow a bit later. (Think of it as my own personal brand of time travel…)
This week, I’ve been writing some human-nature inspired haiku (often called senryu) as opposed to the more naturey-nature ones…
Monday I had a school visit, which always brings me face-to-face with a slew of vivid and uninhibited little selves. And then, of course, I have a couple of those vivid selves in-house.
My Small One has been in speech therapy for a couple of months now — her r’s are w’s and she’s also got a bit of a lisp. It’s particularly cute, if you ask me, because she’s wildly smart and funny and articulate, so to hear her wide-ranging vocabulary in her not-yet-full-grown voice just about slays me.
But lately what’s getting to me is how hard she’s willing to try to kick these habits. Turns out it is not at all easy. She’s been talking like this for seven years and now she’s got to start anew and darn if she isn’t just soldiering on. Which is how we get to the next level, isn’t it? Plugging away on each little, tiny step.
Or r, as the case may be.
Haiku 15
my daughter’s round r’s stretch out as she lifts her tongue; brave imperfection
Most of the subterranean messages I receive these days seem to be about slowin’ it down.
For example, I’ve chosen to live out my professional life in a field where every single step takes weeks instead of days, years instead of months.
Also, when I stop hurrying I seem to arrive places on time. (Go figure that one…)
And, my dog is fourteen.
Walking her is no longer an athletic event. Walking her is a tender, limpy meditation of love.
I am reminded, when I walk with her, how much there is to notice — in my writing, in my relationships, in the world — if I take off the headphones and slow the speedwalk down to a saunter. Literally and figuratively, if you know what I mean…
Haiku 14
dog’s paw sinks in mud she’ll bring it inside later sign of a fine day
Many, many birds migrate through central Texas this time of year. It’s rather a riot of noise and color.
I can only identify a few birds by sight, so I appreciate them with a sort of happy ignorance. I don’t know them by name, but am awfully glad to see them again…
Within the past 14 months, we’ve pretty much destroyed our own personal landscape (save for the oaks and pecans) — between submitting to a brutal drought and undergoing an endless remodel that allowed wheelbarrows, plywood and sawhorses to lay waste to what was previously grass.
What amazed and delighted me today was the realization that the birds don’t care. We remain on their flight path and they seem glad for it…
Haiku 13
yard done in by drought truly inhospitable the birds still break ground
